


Of Father and Son

by Iantheforlornwriter



Series: Of Father And Son Universe [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Death, Drinking, Gen, Loss, Mass Effect - Freeform, Normandy - Freeform, Short, Turian, lounge, son - Freeform, tarquin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iantheforlornwriter/pseuds/Iantheforlornwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been exactly thirty minutes after Adrien Victus heard the news of his son's death from Commander Shepard. He copes the only way he knows how: by drinking himself to oblivion in the Normandy's lounge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Father and Son

Adrien Victus sat in the lounge alone, his three fingers handling the liquid in the glass he was holding with nonchalance. He was feeling nothing but desolate despair. His mandibles were tensed up, not relaxed like how he was earlier -not that he has been, ever since he was made Primarch. 

He still couldn't believe it. It was a momentous thing it was, to be named Primarch after Primarch Fedoran had died in the shuttle crash that was now major news on every network. And how he hated this job, this title. It made his hardy, rough skin crawl. He was never one to love playing politics, and now even as he sat in this lonely lounge he was in, with soft music playing in the background and the pool table sitting idly in the tiny little corner set out for that one singular table, as his feet dangled over the stool he was seated on, he didn't feel like a man of power. No, he felt like a soldier in a fancy suit, playing with fire. Playing with lives in the billions and all their hope of survival; all their dreams of seeing their loved ones again rested within him. In his hopeless, anguished heart which just recently was broken into minuscule pieces of shards now poking at his insides. 

He had lost his son. No father should see the day where he outlived his own son. No father should hear of his son's death from another. No, a Turian father would have been down there with him, fighting with him, believing in him. He always believed in his son. He supposed in the ensuing chaos that followed his election as the new leader of Turiankind, that followed the unstable, shaky alliance they were forming with the Humans and Krogans, he had forgotten how to be a father. This was something he couldn't forgive himself for.

His mind raced for another twenty minutes, not noticing how time passed him by as the intercoms blared with instructions for Commander Shepard to make his way to the cockpit where he was certain the insolent pilot would be. 

He didn't move. He couldn't move. He was firmly glued onto the soft padded cushion of the stool, he was entranced by the swirling liquid that crashed and cascaded against the glass and steadied again. He was too interested in the warm, harsh, searing pain that burnt his throat as it went down his hatch. It was a good feeling, a realistic one. It was exactly how he felt inside, the shards digging further in his sides. 

"Thought I'd find you down here." Adrien didn't turn around to find out who the voice belonged to. He knew who it was, and he couldn't be bothered to entertain anyone at the moment anyway. He was hoping Garrus would've just left him alone but if all that time they spent down on Manae, Palaven's moon, together was for nought, he at least learned one thing: Garrus was a relentless man. He was also highly sympathetic. He wondered how someone who has seen so much could still be this optimistic.

"I don't feel like talking." He replied him, taking another forced gulp of his wonderfully painful liquid. 

"Primarch," Garrus was interrupted before he could finish his sentence. A subtle look of annoyance plastered itself onto Victus' face. His mandibles tensed further. 

"Don't call me that. We were friends before any sort of political niceties came into play." 

"Fine, then. Victus," Victus snarled at his own condescending tone of voice. He was surprised that the next string of words from Garrus were composed of a collected tone. A quieter tone. He didn't deserve the pleasantries. "Shepard told me you walked out of the war room." He said as he sat down next to him. 

"I couldn't concentrate on the logistics of war after what had happened. I needed time to think." He explained himself. The glass was now half empty. He downed the remainder and slammed the glass onto the counter, immediately pouring himself another. Garrus looked at him with an amused smile. 

"Alright then. Pour me one." The former vigilante said as he walked to where the glasses were kept behind the counter and produced one for himself. Victus obliged him, pouring him half a glass full before he tipsily placed it back where he had originally taken it from. 

"Drinking yourself under the table won't help with the negotiations, Shepard would say." Garrus said half-jokingly, half-serious. He tipped the glass cautiously, careful not to drink too much at one go. It was strong Turian liquor and he noted how only those who wanted to get drunk would drink this. Victus was that man today.

"You're not the commander. What would you say?" Victus replied, another round of searing commenced. His throat would be very sore after this reckless drinking session.

"I'd say, let's drink. Look, Victus," Garrus sighed, placing his glass on the counter. "There's nothing wrong with feeling down. You lost a son. No father should lose their son. But he died a hero. He sacrificed himself so not only the Turians but the whole galaxy could live. That wiped out any shame he would've gotten if he failed and abandoned his mission." He finished.

"I know and I have the commander to thank for that. Remind me to thank him the next time I see him." He nodded to himself.

"Will do." Garrus got up from his stool, making his way to the door. The green, glowing panel staring at him. "Victus," he said, not leaving just yet. "Don't blame yourself. Don't let Tarquin's death go in vain." The door wooshed open, leaving the forlorn leader in the lounge alone. 

"I won't." He muttered to himself under his breath. It was now in his resolve to ensure that Tarquin, his only son's death, would not go in vain. He loved his son like any father would with all his now broken, unattached heart. So, he'll be damned if the reapers weren't defeated and peace between his people and the Krogans weren't achieved. His son gave his life away for that very cause.


End file.
